


We're Away with the Clouds

by Kazzy



Series: Doesn't Matter What You Own [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Fishnets, Fluff, Halloween, Nudity, Pre-Series, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:24:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazzy/pseuds/Kazzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Halloween and she’s standing in Oliver’s bathroom staring at her reflection. She’s not entirely sure she has enough courage to go out and face her boyfriend, let alone go out in public wearing the outfit.</i>
</p><p>Laurel's fishnets Halloween costume mentioned in 1x05.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Away with the Clouds

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted a happy chapter. When this got too long for one chapter in the main story, I took it out. And then my brain went ‘why not make it smutty?’. And here we are. Enjoy.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. Title is a line from ‘Clarity’ by Opshop.

Halloween and she’s standing in Oliver’s bathroom staring at her reflection. She’s not entirely sure she has enough courage to go out and face her boyfriend, let alone go out in public wearing the outfit.

A light rapping on the door, reminds her he’s waiting and that he will come in if she doesn’t go out. She takes a deep breath, thinks about the costumes she’s worn for the last three years and the bikini she’d worn all summer, lounging beside the Queens’ pool. All were at least as revealing as this costume. And yet, she catches one last glimpse in the mirror, none of them were quite so… attention earning.

Oliver stares as she steps out of the bathroom and then purses his lips in a low whistle. “Wow.” He licks his lips, tries to say something but fails. “Wow.” And she certainly has his attention. Sex and desire are familiar to Laurel she knows what it’s like to want and to be wanted, but she finds herself startled by the sheer hunger in Oliver’s eyes as he stalks towards her.

Laurel glances down at herself. “I’m not sure. I feel like going out in this is just asking for trouble.”

He moves into her space, eyes still far too low for her tastes. “If anyone touches you, I’ll break…” he glances up and changes track, “… you’ll break their fingers.” His own slide under the leg of her leotard, his hand warm through the lattice design of the fishnets. “Of course we could just stay here. Tommy won’t miss us.” His lips are on her throat and she tilts her head to give him better access, heat blossoming out from each space.

“Tommy is throwing what he refers to as ‘the biggest Halloween party in the galaxy’. He’s going to miss you if you’re not there.”

“If it’s the biggest party in the galaxy, he’s not even going to notice I’m not there. Out of interest, how high do these tights go?” The words are spoken into her skin and she enjoys the vibration and the whisper of his breath on her skin. He’s pulled one of her straps down her arm and is nibbling his way down her arm.

She guides one of his hands to high on her waist, then flicks the strap back up her arm, forcing him to leave off. “Here. And Tommy will miss you if you’re not at his party.” A flick of her fingers is enough to make him move half a step back. 

“I’d have to undress you completely, then.” He looks like he’d do that right now if he thought he could get away with it. His lips are parted and his pupils are wide as he steps back close.

Her skin tingling with promise Laurel almost lets him kiss her. Instead she moves away because she knows that if he does, they’ll never leave. She turns for the door knowing that his eyes are following her. What she isn’t expecting is for him to grab her from behind and yank her back against his chest.

She yelps in surprise. “Ollie!”

His lips find the edge of her jaw. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay here? I’d make it worth your while.”

Laurel shivers and she feels him smile into her skin. The swirling heat in her belly is telling her she should stay here. But she is determined that if she’s going to be wearing this, then they’re going to go to the party. Oliver’s obvious delight aside, she does want to be seen. Lightly she pushes his hands down and walks toward the door, allowing her hips to sway as she goes. His indrawn breath is her reward.

She pauses at the door, which is all the encouragement he needs to lay a hand on the curve of her backside. 

She looks back over her shoulder. “I need you coat.”

His smirk turns into a puzzled frown. “Huh? You have a coat.” He tugs lightly at the bottom of the waist-length jacket she’s wearing to combat the damp chill to the evening.

“Your parents are out there. I need you coat until we get into the car.”

His lips curve upward again and his eyes sparkle. “Oh, they’re not home.”

She looks, but can find no deceit in his face. “If you’re lying to me…”

“Pinkie swear.” He wiggles the digit at her. She rolls her eyes and bats his hand away so he takes the opportunity to settle it on her waist again where his fingers wriggle against her waist before biting in a nearly bruising grip. He leads her downstairs to where he has a driver waiting on them.

The ride over is mostly an exercise in keeping him from becoming too intimate in front of an audience while maintaining a lid on her own desire. She does manage to keep both of their hands over clothing and lips on lips and not on other parts of the body but she’s grateful when the ride’s over and they’re heading inside. He doesn’t stop touching her once, not even in the awkward climb out of the car.

“Don’t wait around,” Oliver says to the driver. “We’ll catch a cab home.” He slams the door shut. “Of course,” he murmurs to Laurel as they join a few people who are heading into Tommy’s father’s house, “I don’t think we’ll be very late, after all.”

Tommy’s waiting in the entrance. Laurel wonders where Mr. Merlyn is and if he knows what’s happening in his home – though she supposes it’s probable he doesn’t care.

When Tommy opens his mouth to comment – either on her outfit or the way her boyfriend is hanging off her without bothering to look up – but she forestalls him with an outstretched palm. “If you say anything, Tommy Merlyn, I will find a drink and throw it at you.”

He chuckles and tugs her out of Oliver arms, ignoring the whine, so he can kiss her on the cheek. She returns the gesture, grateful for the way that his hands never stray from anywhere they shouldn’t be resting. With a long night ahead of them, she’s not sure others will be so respectful. At least Tommy’s friendship with Oliver keeps him careful with her, sly comments notwithstanding.

Oliver pulls Laurel back and she’s vaguely perturbed by the look exchanged by the two men, so she curls into Oliver and lets her lips hover near his jaw. He turns to her, lips pressed to her ear and taking the lobe between his teeth before trailing kisses down her neck. She shivers and presses closer, dimly aware of the plastic gun digging into her side and that they’re making an exhibition of themselves.

Laurel doesn’t care about the first and knows he doesn’t care about the second.

“Okay.” A hand falls on her shoulder and another on Oliver’s and she looks up at Tommy leering at them. “Do you two want a room? Because as much as I can double my father’s fortune by selling tickets to this little sideshow, I thought you might like some privacy.”

Ignoring the blush crawling up her cheeks she glares at Tommy until he shrugs and moves off to greet other guests. Laurel places a hand on Oliver’s chest and he sighs and pulls back enough that’s she’s able to catch her breath. Part of her really wants to drag him off to a bedroom or take him back to his place, but she’s determined that they’re going to be sociable first.

“We are going to talk to people and drink and maybe even dance. We’re not going to leave this party.” Wine sounds like a really good idea right about now. Or maybe vodka. Just something with alcohol.

“We don’t even have to leave.” He’s smirking but his eyes are still dark and focussed on her completely. “Tommy did offer a room.”

“No.” She taps his chest with a fingertip. “No. This is not a brothel, Oliver.”

“Of course not. I’m not paying you.”

She shoves him in the chest in disgust any trace of desire gone with his joke. “Don’t touch me.” She stalks off through the crowd to find herself that drink.

But she’s standing talking to her friend Mari – dressed as ballerina – when a hand lands on her hip. She spins expecting to have to give Oliver a lecture only to find herself face to face with Harry Potter. Immediately the memory of those self-defence lessons her father made her take in high school spring to mind and she grabs his fingers, twist them around until he cries out in pain and holds him there.

Almost immediately Oliver, Tommy and a woman who she assumes is Tommy’s date – dressed in a tiny cheerleader’s costume – arrive on the scene. Laurel releases the hapless jerk who straightens and pulls away. “You stupid bitch,” he says audible over the music and loud enough for Oliver to hear.

Which is a mistake, because people forget that Oliver does have a temper and his father has paid off more than one person who ended up in a brawl with him. In Tommy’s defence he does try and grab his best friend but as he’s tangled up in his date he can’t free himself in time. Both the cheerleader and Mari shriek as Oliver surges forward and lands a punch. As the nearest person, Laurel dives forward between the two men. 

“Ollie. Don’t!” But she’s not strong enough to hold him back – not without hurting him and she’s afraid he’s going to doing something really stupid. Thankfully, Tommy is there moments later, helping hold Oliver until he’s calm enough to let go.

“I’ll sue you both,” Harry Potter promises.

The threat is enough to make the hair on the back of Laurel’s neck stand on end and Oliver tense but Tommy laughs. “Yeah. Good luck with that. Her dad’s a cop and his can afford the best lawyers in the country.” His lips curls. “Get out before I have you thrown out.” His head tilts to the side. “Literally. Thrown out.” He mimes tossing someone physically. “Everyone else can mind their own business.”

For the first time, Laurel notices that they’ve attracted an audience and she turns her face away, not wanting even a grainy cell phone picture to end up in the tabloids. She finds Mari looking at her with wide eyes and her vision clouds over, Tommy is still urging his guests to return to their evening, forced cheer in his voice and Oliver standing stock still, every part of him tense, spoiling for a fight. Suddenly feeling suffocated by his anger and the crowd’s attention, Laurel pushes through the crowd to try and find somewhere free of people. Behind her someone calls her name and she’s distantly aware of it being Sarah but she keeps moving.

Tommy’s cheerleader finds her in an upstairs bathroom, hands clutching the edge of the sink and staring at her reflection in the mirror. No tears have fallen and she’s trying to keep it that way but it’s taking an act of will and the occasional gasp of air.

“Hi, Laurel, right?” her eyes are soft and her lips pulled down. “I’m Rachel. Are you all alright?”

The words take three tries to surface but Laurel manages to pull them out without crying. “I’m fine.” In the mirror she can see her eyes start water again.

Rachel nods. “Can I get you anything? Anyone? There’s a lot of really worried people out there, you know?”

Laurel looks out the open door to the dark corridor and is relieved to see that Rachel doesn’t mean literally ‘out there’. “I’m fine,” she repeats.

“Do you want me stay with you or go?” In the mirror Laurel watches Rachel come up beside her and looks at her, clearly worried.

Laurel feels she should tell this girl that she’s just met to go and enjoy herself but now she’s no longer alone she doesn’t want to be again. “Stay,” she can’t stop the plea from crossing her lips. Her head falls forward and her fingers clench the sink harder. “Sorry,” she says. “You don’t have to.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for – I’m happy to stay here as long as you need me to. You’re very brave, you know. Tommy’s told me a bit about you, but he didn’t mention that you were badass.” Very gently she puts a hand on Laurel’s wrist, waits to see if Laurel flinches but when she doesn’t she lifts first one of Laurel’s hands away from the sink and then the other.

“I don’t feel very ‘badass’.” Laurel confesses. “Hiding in the bathroom.”

“Best places. No one’ll expect it. But your boyfriend is very worried about you. Do you want to talk to him or do you want a ride home? Your sister’s out there, too, if you want, or your friend.”

The thought of Oliver is enough to sooth some of Laurel’s anxieties though it raises some others. “I’d better talk to Ollie.”

“He seems like a great guy. It’s only the second time I’ve met him but still...he cares about you a lot.”

Laurel’s lips quirk. “Yeah.” They leave the bathroom together for the downstairs where the party carries on uninterrupted by Laurel’s drama – she hopes she’s been forgotten by now. “I’m sorry, but you really don’t seem like Tommy’s type.”

Rachel flicks half a grin at Laurel, forcibly reminding her of her friend, Erica. “To be honest, he’s not really my type, either. But I thought it’d be fun.”

“Drunken brawls, notwithstanding.”

“Drunken brawls, notwithstanding.”

“Laurel!” Sarah and Mari come running up and for s few seconds Laurel’s world becomes questions and hugs as both girls make a fuss and Rachel stands back.

She doesn’t notice Oliver arrive until she’s in his arms and he’s squeezing her tight enough that her breathing is restricted. “Are you all right?” he asks her when he pulls back, looking her up and down, checking over carefully. She’s a little surprised to find there’s nothing remotely sexual in his gaze, simply concern for her wellbeing.

Their friends have melted away, leaving them to some space. “I’m fine, Ollie, you know I don’t like it when you fight.” She plays with the collar of his trench coat as an excuse not to meet his eyes. “I just want to forget about it and have fun.”

He nods slowly. “You should have broken his fingers.” His tone is petulant, childish.

“Ollie. Let it go. I just want to dance.” She leads him out to where the music has been turned up and people are moving and she can forget about the whole incident.

Oliver keeps his hands on her waist or back and she appreciates his deference but only for so long. No more a few songs in and the mass of people is enough to push her close to Oliver and she uses the opportunity to encourage him to pull her closer, to move his hands down. She finds that his touch – familiar, pleasant – erases the less pleasant memory and she reaches up to guide his head down so she can kiss him.

His response his heated and immediate, bringing up her own early passion and she opens her mouth at his encouragement. The music pounds on around them and people writhe with little regard. Oliver guides them both to an edge, a dark corridor and presses himself against her, trapping her against a wall as he kisses his way along her jaw line.

“Okay?” he breathes in her ear.

“Yeah.” She thread her fingers through his hair, tugging when he finds a sensitive spot with his lips. He smiles against her skin and she shivers.

“We should go.” He’s panting and not so much pinning her to the wall as using her to hold himself up.

“Uh-uh,” she says and leads him further down the corridor. She doesn’t know Tommy’s home as well as she does the Queen’s but Oliver clearly knows his way around and he turns a corner, leading her to a door two down on the left.  
...  
Once inside she barely has time to depress the lock before he’s on her, mouth on hers, tongue slipping past her lips to slide against her own. She pushes him hard enough that he takes a step back and the kiss breaks for a second or two before they’re on each other again, teeth bumping hard enough that Laurel’s lip, caught between feels like it might be split.

She doesn’t care, not if it involves her having more of him. There’s heat inside her, igniting in a flash and she wants it fast, fast, fast. She wants him.

Sex hasn’t been like this in a while. It’s been good, amazing even – it always is – but not with this fire, not with this burning. She hasn’t wanted to pull him from the inside out like this in months. As she yanks at the collar of the trench coat, trying to slip it off his shoulders she leans forward to whisper in his ear. “I should wear outfits like this more often.” She finds a good angle and yanks the coat off his shoulders.

His hips thrust into hers and his chuckle is closer to a growl. “You might just kill me yet.” 

She starts on his shirt buttons, mouth on his throat while his hands clutch uselessly at her sides. She scraps her teeth across his collar bone, making him moan until she swipes her tongue across the reddening skin and starts to trace her way down as she undoes each button. When she reaches his tummy button she thrusts her tongue into it, swirling around before continuing on her journey until she is kneeling at his feet.

Quickly she removes the belt and the holsters with their fake guns and then she stops. For maybe twenty seconds she doesn’t move, instead she tilts her head up at him and waits. His dark jeans are showing the strain and his fingers are flexing mid-air as he struggles to find somewhere for them to rest. When he makes an attempt at the fly, she bats his hands away and pulls it down, slowly, herself. His boxers follow and he’s standing with his shirt unbuttoned, pants around his ankles and he’s anticipating her next move.

She doesn’t keep him waiting any longer. Lightly she kisses the top of his thighs, circling around from one side to the other, soft breaths and gentle presses. When he moans, in want she kisses the tip of his erection, creating the slightest suction. She takes him into her mouth and then slides off, repeating the motion, taking in a little more of him each time. Her lips stay tight around him

Oliver cups the back of her head, not hard, not pressing, just there, with the faintest tremor.

Laurel runs her tongue from the tip to the base of his erection. Then using her lips and tongue to help her she slides up his length only to repeat the process twice more, making him cry out. With his skin so damp, she blows lightly over the slight shimmer she has left behind from her mouth and he almost squirms away from her.

She looks up to find that she can’t see his face – head thrown back so all her can see is the ceiling. He’s vaguely using her head as a support, but mostly his fingers are stroking and tangling in her hair.

Turning back to her work she seals the tip of him between her lips again and flicks with her tongue. Briefly he pulls her hair so hard it hurts but quickly he releases his grip, patting her lightly. She slides him a little deeper into her mouth and he groans as she continues to massage him with her tongue. She looks up to find him looking down at her. Maintain eye contact she pulls back and then forward, taking a little more of him into her mouth.

He urges her faster and so she starts to pick up the pace, back and forth. She takes as much of him as she can in her mouth, using her hands to touch the parts of him she can’t reach. Then she pulls back to the tip all the while keeping her lips wrapped tightly around him and her tongue dancing.

The sounds he’s making shoot through her, the pants and soft groans as he grows closer to his climax. She’ll admit that there’s a part of her who wants to finish quickly so she can have her turn, but she can’t help but enjoy Oliver’s pleasure. So she keeps moving until he jerks and cries out, liquid flooding her mouth. With care she pulls away from him, turning her head aside to swallow and clean all traces of him off her lips. She stands and wraps her arms around his neck leaning up to kiss him, deep and long.

“What did I deserve you?” he asks when they break for air. His face is close to her own and his eyes are on her own, crinkling with warmth at the sides.

“That’s one of life’s greatest mysteries,” she teases and has the pleasure of watching his eyes dance.

His hands on her waist shift their grip and he’s tickling her through the tight plastic of her costume and she’s giggling and pleading for him to stop but he doesn’t until she can’t breathe anymore. While she’s trying to force oxygen into her lungs, past the laughter he bends in one motion and wraps his arms around her knees and yanks, toppling her backward.

For a moment her shrieks turn real until she registers that she’s bouncing on a firm mattress that’s covered with a soft comforter. Once she got a reasonably stable grip on herself she returns to the giggling while he shrugs out of his shirt, shoes and crumpled trousers. He reaches for her wrists to tug her up into sitting position so he can strip the jacket off her. As far as she’s concerned, she’s done her part and it’s his turn to do some work.

With light fingertips and absolute concentration, Oliver slides the straps of her costume down her shoulders. He traces as much skins as he can and the trails he leaves behind ignite her but she’s done waiting. She wants more. So she welcomes him pushing her back on the bed so he can divest her of the rest of the outfit, pulling it down, past her waist and collecting her fishnet tights as he does so. Lightly he leans down a presses a kiss to her abdomen, making her moan – every move he makes right now is the right one, she just wants him to hurry up. But even with her urging he does not speed up in the slightest, keeping her tightly wound, ready to break but not able. He kisses her twice more, one on each leg join, dangerously close to where she wants him but lacking the intent she needs,

The tights roll down to her ankles where he has to remove her shoes. One the first one is off, she fits the arch of her foot on to his shoulder and he kisses her ankle, before worrying about her other shoe and removing the tights.

Now they’re both completely undressed, he can start moving back up her legs with his mouth – parted lips the slide of a tongue. He laps at the bend in her knee, making her mewl a little. But he is kind, traversing the last distance quickly, setting about cleaning up the mess he’s made of her.

His tongue slides between her folds, slipping into her so she squirms in an effort to not to force him closer. He twists his tongue in her but slides out to slip upwards, collecting moisture as it travels. And then, then, he finally settles to the one places she’s wanted him for what feels like forever.

Laurel cries out, fisting her hands in the bedspread, fabric threaded tightly through her fingers, stars dance in her vision. He continues to lap at her with a firm, steady rhythm. When she props herself up on her elbows she finds him watching her but he turns his attention back on what he’s doing – making her feel amazing – and hums lightly against her.

Despite his best attentions, she’s hovers on the edge for so long, her body constantly threatening to topple over, but never quite managing to reach the point.

At last it arrives, and she falls apart to his ministrations, her body exploding in a supernova. Her legs kick uselessly, hanging over the foot of the bed and it’s with some embarrassment that she can hear her own moans.

Oliver hasn’t stopped, seemingly determined in his desire for her to lose every part of herself to him. He teases her quickly through the second orgasm, sharper, more intense than even the first. And he leaves her lying, boneless and weak while he climbs up beside her and helps her so they’re both stretched out from the pillows down. She licks the last traces of herself off his chin, making him shiver, kissing her deeply.

For long moments, they lie, wrapped up in each other. Laurel throws one leg over Oliver’s hips and she can feel that he’s already hard – he seems disinclined to do much about it other than rock into her lightly. Their foreheads rest close together and his eyes never leave hers. One of his hands brushes against her spine with a gentle regularity that is not so different from the rhythm set by his tongue. One of her hands, lightly strokes his hair, tucking it behind his ear and playing with the short strands.

But the tableau cannot last forever and, eventually, Oliver lifts Laurel’s leg a little higher so he has a good angle to slide into her. She is full of him, her body stretching to allow him room within it. She hums lightly as he begins to move, sending small ripples of pleasure through her.

His hand sneaks up and starts to stroke her, the steady brush of a thumb against her clit.

The sensation is enjoyable even despite the slight rasp. She feels worn out every nerve frayed and useless. Still her body finds in it one more orgasm, body prickling and twitching at the release.

Oliver rolls them over, giving him greater purchase and speed. His movements become quick and hard; his breath, falling on her cheek, is coming in pants, hitching every other one. She wraps her legs around his waist and immediately he’s thrusting deeper. In the small space between their bodies she planes her hands against his stomach and then slides them around to his back, kneading into his muscles. She tightens around him, timing the pull in with his thrusts, making him gasp.

Moments later he goes rigid, calling her name into her hair. He collapses on her, catching just enough of his weight that the sensation of being trapped is pleasant instead of suffocating. From his vantage he’s able to kiss her deeply before rolling off.

Sticky, tired, sweaty and sore, she curls against him, breathing in the scent of him and sex. She’s glad the door is locked so she doesn’t have to think about it. They should be getting up anyway, cleaning up and leaving, but she’s good where she is, wrapped around him. She feels him nuzzle at the top of her head so she tightens her grip where her arm lies across his chest. When she looks up, he presses his lips to hers, soft and gentle, though he opens his mouth when she requests entry.

They break apart naturally and she tucks her head under his chin, watching his chest rise and fall as his breathing evens out. The movement lulls her into a light doze even as she tries to remind herself that they need to get up and re-join the party or go home.

-x-x-x-

Laurel wakes to find the world quiet and still. The sounds of the party have faded into nothing, leaving her with the sense of an empty house. She wonders what time it is, supposes it’s sometime before dawn, but not much if everyone’s gone home – Tommy’s parties are famous for their longevity, if nothing else.

In the night both she and Oliver have shifted so that she’s on her side and he’s pressed up against her back, arm draped across her and a leg slung over her own. His breath tickles the back of her neck, slow and deep, warm. For a second she is struck with how much she loves him, even the parts of him that are not so pleasant. She’s occasionally thought – as dangerous as such thinking is – that she could used to waking up like this.

Still, after a moment, her dry mouth begs for relief and she crawls out from his embrace, missing him as soon as she’s out from under the covers, standing in the cool morning air. The curtains in the window are open so she crosses the room and pulls them shut on the world with its inky sky; no trace of the approaching morning having appeared.

Off to one side there is a door Laurel is relieved to find does lead to a bathroom. She shuts herself in, fumbles for a light switch and ends up blinking as the room is flooded with brightness. Once she can see, she examines the small room which is clearly intended for guests with its impersonal nature and a glance through a second door – to an empty, silent room – confirms this.

She splashes water from the tap on to her face and rinses her mouth, sucking in water as she does so. She cleans herself up a little, taking the opportunity to use tissues to wipe away the worst of her smudged make-up. A hunt through a mirrored cabinet locates a comb and small bottle of mouthwash. Squashing down guilt, though she knows Tommy is unlikely to care, she uses both to help improve her appearance.

The door cracks and she jumps, only to relax when Oliver blinks sleepily at her around it; he smiles when he sees her, stepping inside the room, rubbing his eyes. “Hey. What’re you doing out of bed?” His voice is scratchy and slurred from sleep.

“We should go. I don’t want to overstay our welcome.” She’s faintly embarrassed by what she let him to do her in someone else house – and by what she did to him. There’s a pattern of bruises along his collar bone and down his stomach.

“No. We should go back to bed.” He moves over and wraps an arm around her, pushes her hair aside and starts nibbling. She watches both of them in the mirror for a few moments, naked in the not particularly flattering light.

She has to admit his lips against her skin – with the barest hint of tongue – is good incentive to follow his suggestion. “What time is it?” The question is mostly rhetorical as she’s already turning his wrist over to look at his watch.

“Early.” He rests his chin on her shoulder so he can watch them in the mirror now. But he’s right – not just in the Oliver-early sense – it’s a little after five am.

“Okay.”

“Okay as in, ‘okay, let’s go home’ or okay as in ‘okay, I’m going to get lucky’?” He returns his attentions back to her neck, but his lips are curling up so she figures he has a good idea which she means.

“Okay, as in ‘I’m going back to bed and you can figure out the rest on your own’.” She pulls away from him as he chuckles. But he tugs her back for a kiss. He taste a little sour but the fact is unimportant against the way it makes every part of her heat up. 

“Out in minute.” He releases her and she heads back to the bed, sliding under the covers as water starts running behind her.

The wait is likely no more than a couple of minutes but by the time he’s slipping in with her she’s already starting to doze again. “You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?” he asks, a hand gliding down her arm.

She rolls over so she’s facing him, his face wearing an expression of mock-concern. “Wouldn’t dare.” She pulls him in for a kiss. “I was getting bored, here, all alone.”

“Mm. I should do something about that.” He kisses her hard and she’s surprised that even after their earlier activities she’s ready so fast. She teases his lips apart and he moans as her tongue touches his. For long moments this is all they do, this exchange, a to-and-fro of passion and love, his arms wrapped around his torso, hers resting flat on his chest, ankles tangled.

But not too much time passes before she feels him gently guiding her back and she finds she doesn’t actually want this to go like that. She frees a leg and slings it over his before dragging it up so her knee brushes the bottom of his rib cage. He pauses seemingly surprised for the space of a heartbeat before deciding to go with whatever she has planned. With one hand reaches up and twists her fingers in his hair as much as possible so that she can pull his head back just enough that the kiss breaks but she can reach his neck with her lips. The soft rumble in his chest just encourages her.

She nibbles lightly under his jaw, careful not to leave a mark in a hard to hide place. He won’t mind but she doesn’t like the smirks she’ll get when other people see them – an experience that is more than a little embarrassing. She then licks across the place where her teeth have scraped, soothing any irritated skin, tasting him, making him moan.

With her free hand, she pushes him back, squeezing his waist with her thigh at the same time. He goes so easily, so willingly that the shift in gravity startles her into using his biceps as support, ending up awkwardly straddling him, trying to balance her weight on her knees.

His fingers massage her sides, even as they dig in to help her stay steady. Once she’s secure in her position she looks up to meet his eyes – she can see them glimmering with amusement despite the darkness. “Good?” he asks, sliding his hand up her back to encourage her to bend down and kiss him again, which she does happily.

“Very.” And so is he, if the hardness poking into her buttocks is any indication. She rests her hands on his shoulders so she look directly at his face when rocks back slightly. His hands, which have been tickling her ribs with feather soft brushes, suddenly tense, pinching and they both moan in unison. 

When she settles back on to her calves, he returns to exploring her with his hands. What she loves about this position she can see everything he does, not just feel it. His fingers wander around to her spine and back to cover most of her stomach, to dip into her belly button, tracing the line of her ribs, up to cup her breasts. He spends time flicking his thumbs over her nipples then draws spirals around her areolas that continue out.

All the while she lets him know how much she appreciates his touch with her response. Her whole body is awake and alive with him. She’d like to return the favour but he’s melted her, she’s nothing but liquid in his hands. With his murmur of encouragement she slides his length into her, for a moment they just settle like that, connected. His hands rest lightly on her sides, hers on his shoulders, her face above his but not close enough to kiss.

He squirms a little. In response she tenses her muscles around him and holds for a few seconds before releasing. She pulls those muscles in and then out, in then out several times until they’re both panting. She moves the grip of one of her hands to his wrist then guides his fingers to where she wants them, where she needs them. He touches the place they’re joined then slides up to touch the place she’s aching.

Laurel begins to rock, circling her hips, back and forward, round and round, in gentle circles, still tightening and relaxing around him. His back arches and his rhythm falters – she can’t quite hide the sigh of disappointment. However it isn’t long before he’s back and his touch is sure and steady, teasing her higher.

She finds herself building to her pinnacle quickly, a white knot of heat that starts low but explodes through her as she calls his name. Spasmodically her grip on his shoulders tightens and she sees him wince as her nails nearly pierce his skin. She forces her hands away to the pillow.

When she’s done, her sweat-slick skin catching up with the rest of her body, her chest heaving from exertion, she finds him watching her with an expression that is somewhere between pleased with himself and desperate. Once again she picks up her pace so that he’s soon tumbling through his own release.

Climbing off him, she collapses with her head on his chest, and her fingers threaded through his. He play with her hair and she just relaxes enjoying being here with him. After a while he starts to drowse, though she’s aware he’s still awake.

“What are you thinking about New Years?” Coming out of the blue like that and asked so softly – she’s more aware of the rumble in his chest the actual words – his request doesn’t quite make sense to her.

“Mmm?” she says.

His lips press against her forehead. “I was think we could go up to the beach house for a week – before classes start. New Years Eve we could have a big party, but other than that we could have the place to ourselves.”

She smiles at the though and hopes her can feel the movement, letting her eyes drift shut. “I’d like that.” She doubts either one of them would manage a week with only each other from company – especially not Oliver – but a few days alone with him, sounds like a very nice idea.

-x-x-x-

She can’t have been asleep long – though there is sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains to disprove that theory – when there’s banging then a rattling at the door that she remembers locking hours and hours ago. Beside her Oliver mutters and groans, burying himself deeper under the covers. Laurel sits up and stares at the moving door handle for a few seconds in confusion until she remembers she’s still at the Merlyns’. She nudges at the sleeping Oliver, pulling the sheets further up her chest as he stirs.

The rattling becomes a snick of a lock turning and the door opens inwards to reveal a hung over Tommy. He’s pale and cringing but still manages a smirk and a leer at the two of them in the bed, clearly naked even if the covers conceal most of it. His eyes settle on Laurel narrowing.

“Your dad called. He’s very loud when he’s angry.” Tommy tosses his phone at her. “I don’t want it back until he stops shouting.” He’s gone again, shutting but not locking the door behind him.

Oliver groans and throws his arm over his face bringing the other one up to check the time. “Just after ten.”

Laurel slides out of bed, ignoring Tommy’s phone, going for own in a pocket in the trench coat from Oliver costume. There’s five missed calls and two messages that she deletes without bothering to listen. Her stomach is churning and her head is aching – the last call she wants to make is to her father.

But like ripping the proverbial band aid off, it’s better to do it quickly.

Her father picks up after the first ring, he must have been staring at the phone. “I’m not dead. I haven’t been mugged, I’m not dragging myself naked out of an alley,” she says before he has a chance to speak.

“Where are you?”

Laurel rolls her eyes. Behind her she hear Oliver moving around the room, shutting the bathroom door behind him. “I’m at Tommy’s. Oliver and I slept here last night because we were drunk – which we are both legally allowed to be, because we’re both _adults_.”

“And neither of you had money for a cab?” the scorn practically drips off his words.

“Are we done with this conversation?” Immediately she regrets her tone. “Sorry. I’m tired and hung over. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I am.” 

“Laurel…” he starts but she doesn’t want to hear any lecture he might be planning. She loved him but the overprotective mode got old quickly whenever it reared its ugly head toward Oliver.

“I’ll be home in an hour or two.” She disconnects the call and waits thirty seconds to make sure he doesn’t call back.

Dropping the phone down to the pile of clothes on the floor, she sighs. Oliver comes up behind her and starts massaging her shoulders. He’s not the best – he’d certainly never make money at it – still, she finds that just having his hands on her is relaxing. Soon, though, his touch becomes sweeping caresses that travel round to explore her front, encouraging her to lean back against his chest. His hand cups her breast and she shivers, the night’s activities flooding back to her.

His breath is warm on her ear, lips brushing against skin. “Come back to bed.”

She lays a hand over his. “Yeah.”

For a long while they just lie there – whether they have time for it or not – Laurel’s on her back, curled slightly towards Oliver. He’s on his side, pressed against hers, his hand lying on her stomach, fingers tracing circles on her skin. Their foreheads are close but not touching. She reaches up to play with his hair, shifting strands around. In the dim lighting of the room his eyes are dark blue rather than bright, and they crinkle a little at the corners to match the way his lips curve upwards.

“I love you.”

To her complete lack of surprise, he leans in to kiss her rather than respond verbally. Oliver tends to use declarations of love as a weapon against guilt, a shield to protect him from condemnation – specifically her condemnation – he’ll also use them from time to time to gauge her level of forgiveness. He rarely uses them in the moments she’d most like to hear them.

But she kisses him back because she loves him, because she understands what he isn’t saying – even if she doesn’t completely understand why he won’t. Carefully he rolls on top of her, supporting the bulk of his weight on her arms, breaking the kiss only briefly before settling back into it. He captures her bottom lip between both of his and sucks lightly, underneath him she shivers. Her body is singing with delight – she would have thought after a night of sex, she’d be more than ready to leave for home and her own bed.

He moves down to press kisses to every place her can reach, saving big open mouthed ones for her breasts. She continues to weave his hair through her fingers, tugging lightly at the ends and scraping her fingers lightly against his skull. Once her breasts are hard peaks, he moves down, more feathery kisses on her belly until she shivers and squirms his name on her lips becoming mostly a moan. He presses his lips one last time in the hollow of her hip before rocking back so he’s kneeling between her legs.

She’d propped herself up to she could watch him but now, where he is, she knows to lie back will be more comfortable. Head on the pillow she turns her head to an angle so she can still watch him pick up one leg and kiss they underside of her knee. With careful but a firm movement he pushes her legs back so that her thighs are pressed to her chest and then repeats the gesture while she captures her knees and holds them in the place. The position feels awkward – though she knows she’ll enjoy having herself so open in a moment.

Certainly she feels the sudden jolt as he slides a finger inside her then curls the digit and starts to lightly brush her inner walls. The moment doesn’t last long before he withdraws to rest his hands on her hips. He helps her lift her lower half up to an angle that is easy for him to enter her – which he does slowly. Once again she is full of him and her love for him. She doesn’t say the words out loud but she holds his eyes and hopes he can read them there.

Without breaking his gaze his hands start near her ankles, skimming along her legs and down her body until the reach her breasts. He takes the firm mounds in his hands and flicks his thumb over her nipples, making her gasp. He doesn’t stay there long, branching out to every place he can reach, briefly stopping to link his fingers with hers. His thrusts are slow and deep, helped by her own movements.

But for all this is pleasant, for all the world has shrunken to only including them, she wants more from this encounter. So she snakes her hands down and between her legs to touch herself. The first brush against her clit makes her shudder and gasp, jerking her hips upward. In response, Oliver moans, pushing down hard and faster. His mouth spreads into a wide grin and she has to wonder if maybe this was his intention all along.

The seconds spread into hours and the space of a heartbeat becomes eternity. But she reaches her peak quickly, her body splintering into pieces while Oliver continues to move above her until he too falls apart. 

Softening he slides out of her and collapses forward, half on top of her, half off. Long moments pass as they lie there, quietly; she’d assume he’s fallen asleep, but his thumb is lightly rubbing circles into a patch on her rib cage and when she tilts her head in his direction she finds his eyes focussed on her face.

“We should spend all day here.” His stomach rumbles as if reminding him that it exists. He buries his face into a pillow.

She snorts. “Sure.”

He looks up, eyes dancing – a grin instead of a blush on his face. “Though we might have to go looking for food at some point.”

She shoves him to free herself so she can slide out of the bed and start collecting her costume to dress herself. She doesn’t relish wandering around in it the day after Halloween, but she doesn’t have much alternative. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she starts to roll the fishnet tights up her legs. 

Oliver watches her avidly from where he’s still in bed. “You know I thought it’d be much less fun watching you get back into those than it was to get you out of them. I was wrong.”

“Idiot.” She pulls on the rest of her form fitting costume.

“Clearly.” As she hunts for her shoes, he comes to stand in front of her, wrapping his arms around her and dragging her close, causing her stumble into him. She catches her balance on his shoulders. “Are you sure you don’t just want to stay here?” He kisses her in a way that is still lighting her skin on fire.

If she’s perfectly honest with herself, she’d like nothing better than to stay here with him, secluded from the world, but practicality suggests that it is better if they leave for home, sooner rather than later. “There is such a thing as overstaying your welcome.” Gently she detaches herself from him to collect her shoes – one from behind the small dresser, the other tucked behind a small statue that she hadn’t noticed until right that moment.

Oliver makes a face at her, but starts dressing, anyway. She claims his trench coat. It’s heavy and too warm for the sunny morning but if infinitely more concealing than the short jacket she’d worn the previous evening. She can leave it unbuttoned until she reaches her family’s apartment – or at least until she’s in a cab.

A pounding on the door interrupts them. “Laurel! Laurel, I need my phone,” Tommy whines through the door. Without waiting for an answer he pushes into the room, eyes only partially shielded. He uncovers them quickly either because he knows they’re both mostly dressed – Oliver is buttoning his short and barefoot – or because he doesn’t care.

Laurel grabs Tommy’s phone from where it’s fallen to the floor, sitting half under the bed skirt.

His eyes skim up and down her body quickly, leering. “And suddenly my hangover is gone.”

“Are you hitting on my girlfriend?” Oliver looks up from where he’s retrieving his sock – halfway across the room from its pair, Laurel doesn’t remember them scattering their clothes so far and wide but then she doesn’t remember much more than really wanting sex.

Tommy looks at Oliver and then spins back to Laurel. “Has he met me?”

Laurel considers reminding them that she is in the room with them but decides that the false contrition she’ll receive isn’t worth it. “It’s all right, I know your completely inappropriate comments are just meant to annoy me.”

Tommy points at her but looks at Oliver. “She gets me, but my own best friend…” he shakes his head, sadly.

“Get out, Tommy.” Laurel, in turn, points at the door. 

He laughs but waits in the corridor, calling a cab for them and escorting them out when it arrives. Laurel wonders, but doesn’t ask, if Rachel or another girl is waiting up in his bed for him – or Rachel _and_ another girl.

In the cab Laurel nestles close to Oliver, sharing light kisses throughout the journey, despite the driver’s disgruntled silence. Neither of them wear belts, but she is tucked against his side, his arm around her, her hand resting on his knee. Every couple of minutes she feels her happiness bubbling over and she giggles or kisses him again – she has no idea where the joy is coming from, but goes with it anyway. He seems slightly befuddled by her response but doesn’t call her on it or ask why – he’s smiling widely himself.

At her apartment he pays the driver to wait while he accompanies her up, fingers interlacing with her own. In the elevator, she leans back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her waist and then tightening her own over them. Neither of them speak during the ride, which is thankfully free of people.

At her door he kisses her, deep and slow until they’re interrupted by someone clearing their throat. For half a second she worries that it’s her father, and feels him tense as well, but turns to find a disapproving neighbour glaring at them. The woman hurries past, her ten year old grandson trailing in her wake, staring at Oliver and Laurel.

“Dinner tonight?” Oliver asks.

“Mhm. Around seven?”

He agrees and kisses her one last time before disappearing back down to the elevator. She watches him go, smiling to herself. Then she lets herself into the apartment looking for a bath, a nap and lunch. Not necessarily in that order.

-x-x-x-


End file.
